he groaned, struggling to push into an upright position. “I didn’t come alone, so you can’t go out through the lobby. I’d suggest the window.”
I stared at him, brows furrowed; then my eyes widened in horror. “You weren’t going to arrest me, were you?”
“I told you last night—I’m partial to redheads. I could never arrest you.”
“Then why let me believe otherwise? Why...this?” I gestured at him, for he was hunched over, one hand gingerly prodding his head.
“I couldn’t just let you go this time, not with reinforcements right behind me. So I gave you the chance to spin the tale of how you got away. I didn’t expect it to hurt so much, though. And I haven’t even considered the wounding my pride is about to take.”
My emotions continued to swing, bringing me close to tears, and I bit my lower lip, using the pain from the pressure of my teeth to remain focused. Shaking slightly, I went to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you. And I’m so sorry about—”
“Just get moving. The Constabularies downstairs are only going to wait so long before joining us.”
I nodded and threw on my cloak, then approached the window, glad to see the rain of the day before had stopped. A quick glance told me climbing was not a viable option. It was a straight drop to the ground, with no shutters or lamp brackets for handholds. I pulled out the rope Illumina had stashed in her pack—the pack I now carried, for she and I had inadvertently switched our travel satchels when she’d left a few days ago for Chrior to inform the Queen of Zabriel’s arrest—and tied one end of it around the bedpost, securing the other about my waist. With a final glance at Tom, I opened the window and hopped up to balance on the ledge, then eased myself down. My feet had no sooner hit the cobblestones then the rope landed beside me, a money pouch attached.
“You’re terrible at tying knots,” Tom called, and I looked up to see his face framed in the window. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt. And I expect you to pay that money back someday.”
With a quick wave, I picked up the rope and money, then hastened out among those who frequented the establishments in this part of the capital. Though I had left the inn behind, I wasn’t necessarily out of danger, and I panned the streets, watching for the red uniforms worn by the members of Tairmor’s peacekeeping force. Whether due to Luka Ivanova’s desire to apprehend me or not, the Constabularies did seem to be out in large numbers, and I snugged the hood of my cloak close around my face to hide my most distinguishable features—my rich auburn hair and green eyes.
Needing a place to think, I ducked into an alley across the street from a human shelter, knowing Luka’s men generally left the homeless in peace. I crouched down among the damp heaps of trash, trying to ignore the cloying odors, and forced myself to concentrate on the only question that mattered. Why hadn’t William Wolfram Pyrite’s arrest been made known?
I tugged at a few strands of my hair, sorting through the possibilities I could discern. Was Zabriel dead? No, for news of the demise of such a nefarious pirate would have been announced and celebrated, the only downside the lack of a public execution.
Had he escaped? Highly unlikely, but if he had, Gwyneth Dementya, daughter of the owner of the largest shipping company in Sheness and paradoxically an associate of the pirates, would have gotten word to me at the Fae-mily Home. I had already checked once with Fi, the woman who ran the shelter for wounded and displaced Fae, since returning to Tairmor, and no note had been delivered, though I would make sure to check again.
Was my cousin being held for interrogation? I chewed on the inside of my cheek, the small bit of discomfort helping to focus and relieve my anxiety. This third possibility made the most sense. If Pyrite’s arrest were proclaimed, there would be an immediate and massive outcry for his blood. The best way to stave off the lust for vengeance was to keep the news under wraps until he could be made to confess his deeds and reveal information about the other members of his crew.
I banged my head back against the alley wall, angry at the conclusions I was reaching. Angry, if I was honest with myself, at Zabriel and his overabundance of confidence, stubbornness, and pride. He had fled the Faerie Realm two years ago at the age of fifteen, and he had never revealed his whereabouts to his mother. Nor had he attempted to make contact with the human side of his family. Half-Fae and half-human—the son of Queen Ubiqua and William Ivanova, the Governor’s deceased elder son—he had not wanted to be claimed by either faction, much less by both. And yet he had chosen a lifestyle that was destined to put the two worlds on a collision course.
Nervous energy on the rise, I came to my feet, the thought of Zabriel confined somewhere—hungry, cold, injured, and undergoing torture—almost more than I could bear. While I felt certain his life would be spared if Governor Ivanova were told his real identity, it was Queen Ubiqua who had decided to keep news of her son’s birth from his grandfather. It was not my place to reveal such a long-kept and volatile secret, but if worse came to worst and my cousin was slated for execution, I’d divulge everything, whatever the cost.
But it shouldn’t have to come to that. Queen Ubiqua was no doubt on her way to Tairmor by now, and Zabriel could tell the Constabularies who he was anytime he wanted. The best thing for me to do was wait—and stay out of the Lieutenant Governor’s reach for the time being. Putting two royal heirs into human custody did not seem wise.
I stepped around the piles of trash to peer into the street, and immediately drew back, frantically tucking any escaped strands of hair inside my hood. If anything, the number of red uniformed men in the vicinity of the human shelter had increased while I’d sat ruminating. My heart pounded, for my straits had degenerated in another way—a pair of Constabularies was stopping the ragged citizens of Tairmor’s underbelly at the shelter’s entrance. One of the men appeared to be asking questions, while the other made entries into a logbook of the sort used by the guards at the gates into the city.
Why would the Constabularies be doing such a thing? Would they really go to all this trouble just to find me? Feeling as if a noose were tightening around my neck, I hurried down the street in the opposite direction, wishing I had the ability to vanish into thin air.
Believing the search for me would be concentrated within the poorer neighborhoods, I headed toward the River Kappa and the deep ravine it cut from northeast to southwest on its journey through Tairmor, effectively dividing the city in half. I walked until my feet ached and my stomach begged for the breakfast it had so far been denied, pleased to see my assumption had been correct: the number of Constabularies dwindled with the increasing wealth of the residential areas.
I crossed the street, intending to purchase a bit of bread from a bakery, and passed a lamppost to which a brightly colored notice had been plastered. I glanced at it, then came to a full stop, daring to trust to luck.
Aleksandra Donetsky’s Hair Care Salon, I read, examining the illustrations of well-to-do women with highly coifed hair. Offering Perfumes, Curling Fluids, Soaps, and for the first time, Dyes—safe and odorless, in shades of Brown, Black, Golden and Chestnut, Medical Certificates available...
I skimmed to the bottom of the poster where an address was printed—an address on the same street upon which I stood. I smiled, feeling almost giddy, and hurried on my way, my stomach no longer of concern. Aleksandra Donetsky might hold the key to restoring my freedom of movement within the city.
I began to check signs, for I had entered a neighborhood market area. Noticing the comings and goings of a few well-dressed women up ahead, I quickened my pace and was pleased to discover the establishment I sought.
